Let me take care of you
by Scarlett R Winchester
Summary: After the events of "The Things We Left Behind", the reader comforts Dean. Dean x female reader. Explicit sexual content.


_**A/N**_ : My 1st try at reader insert fic. It was originally intended for my Dean/OFC series, but that plot is nowhere near the timeline of this fic, which is 10x09 "The Things We Left Behind". I feel utter heartbreak whenever I see Dean's face after he realizes what he's done, and this fic pretty much covers what most of us Dean!girls would have done.

I do not own the rights for Supernatural, or any of its characters.

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When you ran in, he was on his knees, a bloody knife in his hand, and a look of utter despair on his face. Somehow, you managed to hide the shock and horror that crept into you when you saw the dead bodies scattered around the room. But honestly, you didn't care much for them; all you cared about was the man in front of you, and the pain he must have been going though.

Before Sam, Castiel, or Claire had a chance to run in, you grabbed Dean and dragged him to the Impala. Once you located its keys inside Dean's jacket, you carefully had him sit in the passenger seat, then you started her up and drove off in a rush, ignoring the younger Winchester's shouts. You were sure Sam would spam your phone with calls and texts about why you took Dean; but you didn't care. Dean was in no shape to deal with a raging teenager and listen to her rant about how he had killed her questionable surrogate father; nor he was in shape to hear a lecture, or to be looked at as if he was broken. He didn't need none of that.

He was quiet, _too_ quiet; and his eyes were set on the horizon, unfocused and full of pain and guilt and shame. He was so numb that it physically hurt you to look at him; and of course, he didn't dare look at you. You could infer the train of thoughts going through his brain; you were sure he was calling himself all types of horrible things inside his mind.

You pretty much ignored maximum speed limits and traffic lights; all you wanted was to get to your place as fast as you could, and take care of him. From time to time, you'd place your hand on his, and he would give it a faint squeeze, still not looking at you.

You parked Baby and got out; Dean was still sitting there, not moving, completely unfocused; and you could tell he was fighting off the urge to letting tears flow freely. He must have been so locked down in his own thinking, that he seemed surprised when you opened up the door for him and helped him out. It certainly broke your heart to see him like this, and the fact that he wouldn't open up made matters worse.

He stood in your living room for what it seemed ages, not moving, not saying a word. You had disappeared into the bathroom and were filling up the bathtub and when you returned, he was still in the same position, completely lost in thought.

"Dean?" You asked softly, not wanting to startle him, "I prepared a bath if you wanna clean up." You were sure he would want to get rid of all that dirt and blood and sweat, not just because of hygiene, but also because it surely made the whole incident even more real, and the sooner he got cleaned up, the faster he would start to heal. You hoped.

He gave a quick nod, still not looking at you, but he didn't move until you gently nudged his elbow and led him to the bathroom. His eyes were unfocused and fixed on some spot on the wall as he slowly undressed; the room slowly filling up with steam and the scent of assorted soothing smells. You were a sucker for aromatherapy, and Dean always picked on you about that. _You baking an apple pie in there?_ _You hoarding a flower shop, babe?_ He would joke more often than not, but you knew he liked it as well, because who didn't like nice smells after spending most days with the stench of blood and death?

He seemed to take forever to undress, but you didn't say anything, Dean needed to do things in his own pace, especially in situations like this. Dean was all for being there for others, for helping them feel better about themselves, but when it came to himself, he always felt like a burden and would instantly put on that "I'm fine" mask. And you honestly hated when he did that, because he couldn't be more wrong.

Dean was sitting in the tub, bracing his legs, letting the water warm his body; that look of self-loathing -and fear and guilt- still sharp on his face. You picked up his dirty clothes and started to leave, when a shy "don't go" stopped you on your tracks. He still didn't look you in the eyes.

"I'm just going to put these in the machine, I won't be long." You replied as you left.

By the time you returned, he was still in the same position, bracing his knees as if holding on for dear life, but now his face was clean and showed a little more pain and less hate, but this time he didn't try hiding it. It was a start, at least. You pulled up the little stool you had in your bathroom, that one you used to place your glass of wine every time you took a relaxing bath. When you picked up your luffa and started scrubbing his shoulders, he relaxed at your touch.

Dean certainly didn't need any help, of course, but you wanted to make sure you weren't afraid of him after what you'd seen back at that house; and also you wanted to comfort him.

"You not getting in?" He asked softly, a hint of hope in his tone. It wasn't an innuendo, you could tell. He just didn't want to be alone, even if you were sitting right next to him.

"Sure." You nodded, smiling as sweetly as you could. You didn't want him to see the heartache this whole situation was giving you. "Need anything else before I get in? Music? A drink?"

He merely shook his head.

You could tell he was watching you undress out of the corner of his eye. It was so odd to not see lust in his eyes while standing naked in front of him. You were about to enter the bathtub and sit in front of him, but he scooted forward. You took the hint and sat behind him, and not a second passed that he was leaning back against you. You instantly wrapped your arms around him -as best as you could, considering his broad torso and muscular biceps- as he rested his head on your shoulder; his eyes closing the moment he felt your skin, and his hands reaching for yours.

"You okay?" You asked. Of course you knew he wasn't okay. It was a stupid question, but you needed to ask it anyways, you needed to reach out to him, to try to get Dean to open up and let out all the shit he had bottled up inside.

He opened his eyes but didn't reply.

"It's okay if you don't wanna talk, not gonna force you to. Just know that you can talk about anything, it's not gonna change my image of you." You kissed his cheek, and his eyes instantly closed again, but still he didn't say anything.

Dean seemed to slightly relax the moment you began rubbing your luffa on his chest, but his expression still showed so much of that burden he was carrying. His eyes were focused on the far wall, and his lips parted with a sharp intake of breath, then were closed again.

"What?" You asked; your forefinger tilting his chin slightly so you could see his face.

He remained silent for a moment, pondering if he should say anything, because in usual Dean fashion, he didn't want to trouble you with his fears and self-loathing. His eyes drifted to the mark on his right forearm, just as his left hand gripped it, as if trying to hide it and make it go away.

"I couldn't stop myself.." His words carried a level of both resignation and stoicism; he surely as hell didn't want you to see him weak. He paused, taking a deep breath, "I didn't want to stop. I'm a monster, and I hate it." His eyes finally gave in and let a couple of tears roll freely.

"You're not a monster, Dean, it wasn't your fault." He leaned into your touch the moment your lips met his cheek again. "It was the Mark. Besides, they had it coming."

He didn't say anything, but you could tell that your words clearly shocked him -hell, your words even shocked you- but he didn't argue or agree. He closed his eyes again and shifted between your limbs until he found a comfortable position, his head now resting on your breast. You decided to not press the subject anymore, at least for the time being; he was slowly lowering his defenses, and any other mention of the incident would probably bring those walls up once more.

You both remained silent for long minutes; one hand interlaced with his, while the other was idly caressing his arm. You hadn't noticed he had fallen asleep, at least for a couple of minutes, until his body shook violently; and then he was sitting up, looking around the bathroom, trying to get his bearings, a look of utter despair on his face.

You instantly pulled him back to you, wrapping your arms around him. "Shh, it's okay, baby. It's just you and me here, there's nobody else," you whispered in his ear, trying to calm him down, and laying kisses along his neck and jawline. And once he calmed down a bit, you washed and rinsed his hair.

The water was gradually losing heat, and was now lukewarm; you gently nudged him to get up and he complied, helping you stand up in the process. You wrapped him in a towel, holding on to him for several seconds before grabbing your bathrobe. Dean seemed a little better, at least on the surface; he was now looking you in the eye.

You rushed to your bedroom and grabbed one of the t-shirts and underwear he had left last time he spent the night here. By the confused look on his face, it was clear he had forgotten about those. Of course, you both also forgot that his duffel with his clothes was in the trunk of the car.

You led him to your bedroom and tucked him under the covers, then turned on the TV and gave him the control.

"Where you going?" He asked worried when he saw you getting dressed.

"Gonna get some food from the resto-bar. I won't be long." You reassured him right away. You'd rather cook him something, but in all honesty, you didn't feel like it; you were emotionally drained, and making something homey and succulent would probably take you a good while. Besides, the resto-bar in the block made amazing burgers, since it was aimed for the yuppies that wanted to have a bite and a drink after office hours.

As you had suspected, your cell was full of messages, missed calls and voice mails from Sam, asking for an explanation about your getaway, and about his brother. While you were waiting for your order, you gave him a quick call, telling him that you were gonna take care of Dean for the night and handle the situation, and to not worry; Sam understood and asked you to keep him posted if anything happened.

When you entered the bedroom, Dean relaxed and, for the first time since this nightmare happened, he actually smiled a little. His eyes lit a bit when the smell of the burger -especially the bacon- reached his nose. The view certainly warmed your aching heart, and you couldn't wait to see his expression once he knew that this time you managed to get him some pie. Not that you ever forgot it, but lately the resto-bar ran out of it fairly fast.

You got in bed as soon as you changed -oversized Metallica t-shirt and panties your usual pajama. His appetite wasn't as big as usual, but at least he was eating; and sure enough he laughed a bit when he saw the pie.

"Been a while since we ordered there," he said softly as he got further inside the bed once he finished off his pie.

"That's because we never get a chance to order lately, I'm spoiling you with my cooking," you jested while you had him nestle between your legs; your chest pillowing his head; and several minutes later, he had fallen asleep again.

You were watching a movie when he woke up a few minutes later. Dean turned on his side, while still between your legs; and you could see he was lost in thought again, although he didn't seem too troubled this time. You just let him be, and continued watching TV.

Dean's cheek was against your stomach; one arm tucked under your waist, and the other idly caressing your side beneath your t-shirt. His action causing your breathing to quicken and hitch just barely, which you tried to control but failed miserably when a soft whimper escaped your lips. Your eyes went wide in shock and realization and shame, just as he turned his head to look at you, wonder in his eyes.

You felt embarrassed and guilty because he was going through something traumatic, and here you were suddenly feeling aroused by his gentle touch, and yearning for more. The two of you remained looking at each other for several seconds; your expressions never changing until you finally broke the silence.

"I-I'm so sorry, Dean. I didn't mean to." You were blushing by now, and the fact that his skin was still against yours did not help matters.

"Sorry for what?" He honestly was confused by your apology, and maybe a little curious as well.

You made a faint expression and he instantly knew. He knew exactly what was going on, and how guilty you were feeling. He knew you so damn well.

He smiled brighter this time. "Nothing wrong with that, babe. No need to apologize."

You didn't see lust in his eyes, but there was in fact a hint of want; and clearly he could see the same in yours. Truth was, you wanted him; you _needed_ him. You needed to feel him close to you, to feel intimacy, especially in a dark moment like this. And you knew he needed that as well; he needed solace and comfort and the warmth of your body; and you sure as hell were gonna give him whatever he needed. But before you had a chance to ask him what he wanted, he had already lifted your t-shirt and was trailing soft wet kisses on your stomach, while propping himself up and lifting your legs and slowly removing your panties.

"You don't have to," you said as your breathing hitched.

He looked up at you, a faint smirk on his face. "When did I ever leave my girl unattended?"

Never ever. Something you've learned early on was that Dean was never fully satisfied until _you_ were fully satisfied.

He slowly began going up your body until he was kissing and nibbling your breasts. He was gentle and sweet; his usual hunger was nowhere to be seen, but it didn't bother you at all. His hand was tracing faint and soft patterns on the back of your thigh, then slowly going back up until he reached your waist. His gentleness was both calming and arousing, and was also swelling your heart.

As Dean began making his way down -his kisses still soft and slow- his hand reached for your cheek and caressed it before trailing down to your breast.

You were panting softly and reveling in all the sensations you were feeling; and when his mouth reached your pelvis, you couldn't contain a soft moan and throw your head against the headboard. If it wasn't for the propped-up pillow, you'd probably have gotten a bump. When he finally reached your entrance, you felt light as a feather and charged like a gun.

Just like he had been with your breast, his kisses were slow and tender, and you couldn't help mentally giggling because damn, the way he was kissing your pussy felt exactly like the first time you two have _really_ kissed. Not the actual first time you kissed, but the first time you did it after you both realized this wasn't just a friends-with-benefits thing.

Dean looked up at you, but unlike all other times, he wasn't smirking or teasing you with his eyes; his look showed something you've never seen before: devotion. You didn't know whether to moan or cry happy tears.

The maddening slow pace was driving you insane; his soft whimpers only adding to your fever; and soon after, he added a finger and then another, pumping them slowly in and out of you, his thumb tracing lazy circles around your clit. Your breathing was quickening and your soft moans were now coming out more frequently; and when your legs started trembling, his focus on your clit was absolute until you were a moaning mess coming undone with just one word: his name.

Dean gently worked you through your orgasm, licking you clean and laying sweet kisses until your shaking stopped; then slowly crawled back up until he was hovering over you. His hand found your cheek and stroked it for several seconds before his mouth found yours; his kiss full of fervor and gentleness. When he pulled away from you, his expression was hard to read; you didn't know exactly what was off about him, until you realized he was barely hard, something that was rare when it came to him.

He felt embarrassed and mildly upset, because he wanted you, because he wanted to give you more, but his body wasn't responding the way he wanted; and in typical Dean fashion, he was feeling full of guilt and didn't dare look at you.

"I'm sorry," he whispered just as he rolled off of you, facing away.

You weren't surprised this was happening; Dean had gone through something horrific, and you were sure the whole scene was playing over and over deep in his mind.

"No need to apologize, Dean," you replied as you turned off the TV then rolled on your side; one arm snaking under his head, the other embracing him. You felt him press his back against your chest, trying to get a more comfortable position; his right hand reaching for the one you had embracing him, and taking it.

You kept kissing his cheek and neck until you finally fell asleep. You didn't feel his kiss on the back of your hand, nor heard the heartfelt "thank you" he whispered before letting sleep claim him over.


End file.
